


Stacking Up

by bravelittlesoldier



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Genius!Stiles, Librarian!Derek, Library AU, Library of Congress AU, M/M, Place: Library, Place: Library of Congress, Place: Washington DC, Socially awkward, Stiles is Gifted, Swearing, cute and fluff, fluff n stuff, librarian!Stiles, third base, vague making out, vague sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelittlesoldier/pseuds/bravelittlesoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is working in the basement of the Library of Congress and is feeling his social skills quickly deteriorate.  Then along comes a new librarian working at Circulation who is most definitely a male model.  Maybe its time to start re-socializing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stacking Up

In a smooth-ish motion that five years previous would have been catlike, Stiles dropped to his hands and stomach and not so stealthily wriggled his flashlight out of his pocket.  The little light lit up the bottom shelf just enough to see the numbers on the spines.

 

"SF, SG, SK - SK 102, 103, 103 point 6 - theeeere you are."  Stiles reached to his side and shuffled around for his stack.  He felt the hard corner of a cover and grabbed the book.  As he brought the book to its home on the shelf, the scent of paper wafted over him.  He coughed.  That was a strongly smelly book. 

 

Stiles Stilinski had been shelving books in the basement for over a year and had gotten used to the darkness.  He had to admit he felt incredibly badass, working in the dark and never knowing what time of day it was.  In his mind, he was Batman.  Unfortunately, the lack of light in the basement had cost him his perfect eyesight and the lack of people in the basement had cost him some basic social skills.  Life was lonely enough if you worked in a library, and being assigned to the agriculture collection was nothing short of isolating.  Farmers didn't read anyway, and farmers did not come to DC to read about the history of farming.  They had farms and food and the responsibility to feed the world or some shit.  Which is why Stiles was shelving books, alone, and in the dark.

 

So when the blinding light of the hallway entered Stiles' inner sanctum of an archive, Stiles screamed.

 

"Oh my god!" came a deep scream back.

 

"What do you want, stranger?!" Stiles yelled at this figure in the doorway as he skittered around on the floor.

 

"Just dropping off a book, stop yelling."  The voice got calmer as the sentence went on.  Stiles felt his body exiting fight or flight mode and began breathing again, but still couldn't see very much except the silhouette of the stranger in his door.  It looked like a man.  It sounded like a man.  It must have been a duck. 

 _Shut up_ , Stiles thought to himself.

 

Stiles rolled over, attempting not to give away his position.  "Just...just leave it on the ground."

 

A snort came from the figure standing in the light.  Stiles could have sworn the person was mumbling something about cave dwellers, which Stiles chose to take as a compliment, and the book dropped to the floor with a smack.  Stiles gasped. 

 

"Dammit, dude, what'd you drop that for?"

 

Stiles' question went unanswered as the door closed and that familiar and warm darkness returned.  Stiles sat up and adjusted his glasses.  As he stood up and walked the stacks toward the dim light of the door, he saw the book on the ground.

 

 _SkyFarms: Subsistence Agriculture of the Future_ by Drs Lois Pugh and J.L. Simons sat undignified but safe on the ground.  Stiles picked it up and leafed through it.  Not that he could see anything in it, let alone read it, he'd left his flashlight in the stacks.  He closed the book and squinted at the spine. 

 

Some asshole had cataloged this an S604.  Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out his fine point sharpie to correct the tag to S770 (because this book was CLEARLY about skyscraper farms and NOT environmentalism) and make a note on his arm to take this up to catalog and yell at the person who didn't read the entire list of categories.  Probably some undergrad interning at the Library to get into politics at the ground level because their uncle's a senator or some shit. 

 

*******

 

Stiles climbed out of the basement at three pm for his lunch break.  Although the pay for a doctoral student at the Library was meager, Stiles was eternally forever and ever stoked that his meals were paid for at the always wonderful Library Cafeteria.  Stiles looked at his phone: it was Tuesday.  Yes.  French dip and sweet potato tots.   As Stiles practically ran out of the Thomas Jefferson building basement (or TJ, as he liked to call it) and into the sun drenched outside world, he noticed something different about the main reading room.

 

Namely, the very attractive person sitting at circulation. The dark-haired, facially gifted, muscular, grumpy-looking, impeccably Wall Streeted-out yet intriguingly bearded man sitting at circulation.

 

Stiles couldn't help himself.  He stared at that man for a good five seconds without any shame.  If Stiles was honest with himself, which he would never be, he almost stopped to full-on gaze upon this specimen of masculine beauty, drool and all.  The guy stood up and - _holy crap_ , he was incredibly triangle shaped - Stiles felt his eyes widen.  There was no way that this guy worked here.  No freaking way. 

 

Stiles stared, unashamed, at the splendor of a man, as he walked through the reading room and into the cafeteria.   In fact, Stiles went back and took one last selfish look.

 

Why was this happening.  A year ago, Stiles would have glanced at him, done a double take, and walked on to lunch like a normal person.  But now, nooooo, Stiles had to walk around and stare at pretty people like the fierce creeper the regular populace wished they could be.

 

A buzz.  Stiles broke his stare from Circulation Man and looked down at his pocket and reached in.  Who else would be texting him but Scott.

 

 **Scotty McCally** : GUESS WHOS COMING TO DC

 

Stiles smiled.  Scott had been trying to visit for what seems like years, and he finally got the money to leave San Francisco for spring break. 

 

 **Me** : When you coming?

 

 **Scott McCally** : Couple weeks April 5-8 in DC with my best bud and then the rest of the time in NY.

 

Scott was also visiting Allison.  They hadn't seen each other in 2 months.  But in Scott and Allison time, that was seventeen dog years. 

 

 **Me** : Sounds good, buddy.  I'll try and get those days off. 

 

 **Scotty McCally** : Yep.  You still on for skype tonight?

 

 **Me** : You betcha

 

By this time, Stiles had gotten his favorite sandwich accompanied with the most cracktastic au jus.  However, one bite in and this meal seemed lackluster. 

 

Sandwich, Scott, au jus...things should be excellent but the thought of "Who is that male model and why is he working at the Library of Congress" plagued his mind. 

 

The field of library science is a very small one, mostly because you have to really, really love reading and research and, for most of the world, those two things are the worst part of college.  Stiles had always loved research, even though as a kid it was disguised as backing up ridiculous claims with some sort of fact about circumcision.  Through his time at Cal and his transfer to Columbia, Stiles had seen what kind of people were librarians.  There is a reason stereotypes exist - they were completely true.  Librarians are the definition of bookish.  They had glasses, wore comfortable shoes, loose clothes, and didn't have very many friends.  Stiles, eternally awkward in high school and in his GE classes, was somewhat of a lothario and party/bad boy in his library science circles.  That reputation for a guy who’d graduated from high school before he could drive.

 

So now he was confused.  Was Stiles lusting after Zoolander in circulation, or was he threatened by him? Stiles was the sexiest librarian he knew, but that had changed in one fucking second.

 

Stiles sighed through his nose has he chewed his sandwich.  It suddenly stopped tasting like God and more like ashes. 

 

Fuck.

 

*******

 

Having a Firefly rewatch marathon in one night was not a good idea.  Stiles was on his fourth cup of coffee and second Five Hour Energy and it was only 10:15. For once, Stiles was glad he worked in the Batcave and not in the bright as hell reading room.  At least here, he could work for a bit and sleep.  No one would care if he just...

 

The sharp ding of the elevator penetrated Stiles's poor eardrum.  Fuck.  He’d fallen asleep.  He sat up and attention and attempted to look busy.  The desk lamp was nearly blinding, but not nearly as bad as the stream of light in the elevator shaft.

 

"Delivery, Stilinski."

 

Stiles started to furiously type an angry and completely fake email to the President. 

 

"Thanks, I'll get on it Greenberg." 

 

The squeak of wheels did not mix well with the gross amount of light signing through the door.  It was a like a hangover without any of the mistakes of the previous night. 

 

"You know," Greenberg began, and Stiles was already dreading this mini conversation that was about to freaking happen, "if you need a break from the doom and gloom down here, you can always come up to catalog and hang out with us for a while."

 

Stiles blinked slowly as he turned his head toward the very pre-Deathly Hallows Neville-esque Greenberg.  Greenberg was probably the asshole who miscataloged the _SkyFarms_ book.  Stiles pursed his lips and breathed in deep.

 

He then very purposely and slowly said, "Thanks.  Greenberg.  I'll keep that in mind," with a hidden message of " _Get the fuck out of my cave, Schlongbottom_."

 

Greenberg smiled at Stiles with genuine kindness.  Stiles wanted to stab him.

 

"Well, thought you should know that we have Coke up there."

 

Stiles glared at Greenberg and went back to typing his angry letter to the President. 

 

As soon as Greenberg left, Stiles immediately felt like an anti-social jackhole.  Maybe he should go up to catalog. Actually make some friends. 

 

It actually pained Stiles to think about talking to people.  God.  Why did this happen to him? He was awkward, but actually social in high school.  Some insane paradigm shifts had happened in the last seven years between graduation and now. 

 

What was he even doing in this dank hole of darkness.  He was supposed to be researching technology information systems. He should probably go to where there was a bit more technology and fewer farms.

 

Stiles took a look at his new stack and saw that it was topped with _Animal Farm_. 

 

Goddamn it.  He was going to kill everyone in catalog.  Screw making friends, they all suck hairy dicks.

 

Stiles grabbed that _freaking_ novel that wasn't even about _FREAKING_ farming and got up out of his seat. He did not have time for this shit.  Well, he did, but this was about principle.  Who the hell even got hired at the LIBRARY OF FUCKING CONGRESS that thinks _Animal Farm_ is about fucking farming?!

 

He didn't even wait for the elevator.  He was going to run up those steps in the fire escape and yell and everyone.  Half way up the stairs, he changed his mind. Yelling in a library was a quick way to get fired.  But there was no way he was going to be friendly with people in catalog. He was just going to be incredibly snarky and bitchy at them.  As he walked through the reading room, he changed his mind yet again. 

 

Zoolander was sitting at circulation.

*******

 

"Um.  Hi."

 

Zoolander looked up from his desk, blank faced. Stiles gulped. 

 

Okay, really?  What were those eyes even?

 

"Yes, sir?" Zoolander asked Stiles in a gruff but polite voice.

 

"Um, yeah, I need some help putting this book back." Stiles shook _Animal Farm_ in his hand and smiled at the beautiful man.

 

Zoolander lifted his eyebrow and said, "You can just leave it here, sir."

 

Stiles was caught off guard.  This was his lead in, his one chance to make an impression and be charming or whatever he did in the old days before the Dungeon.  If this guy wasn't going to take the bait, what was Stiles going to do?

 

Force feed the bait, that's what. Like a mama bird to a baby bird.

 

"Uh, yeah, so, I'm in Agriculture and this book is a novel and I'm not sure where it needs to go and I'm a bit new at this," okay, lying was now a thing for Stiles, "and I need you to help me out please."

 

Zoolander did nothing, just stared at Stiles and breathed. The expression on his face was so neutral, Stiles felt insecure and gross.  Who doesn't react to things?  This was probably a mistake.

 

Just when Stiles was about to give up his quest and leave the book, Zoolander got up out of his chair.  Holy crap.  That worked.  Stiles saw Zoolander moving away and Stiles’ legs involuntarily fumbled after him. 

 

 _Like a baby bird_ , Stiles thought smugly _.  Like a helpless, baby bird_.

 

They walked through the reading room in silence for a few yards.  Stiles felt himself itching on his body.  A fucking phantom itch that was now creeping from his scalp to his chest, to his arm, to his balls.  And that’s where it stops.  God fucking damnit.  He walked a couple of steps debating if he should or should not scratch the itch away.  After hard debate within his head of the pros and cons, Stiles looked around and saw that all fourteen people in the room were reading, Zoolander was walking straight forward; Stiles went ahead with Operation: Ball Scratch when -

 

"I'm new too."  Stiles immediately abandoned his mission and instinctively raised his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair.  Zoolander turned around and smiled a smile that was somewhere between charming and creepy. 

 

Stiles puffed some air out of his cheeks.  "Yeah, that so? When'd you start?" Stiles said incredibly too fast.

 

"Yesterday," Zoolander said and turned back to the front and kept moving.

 

There was silence for a few moments as Stiles just followed.  Normally, silence was Stiles' friend and constant companion, but he could not deal with this.

 

"Not much of a talker, are you?" Stiles asked, instantly regretting that he asked it as soon as the phrase left his mouth.

 

Zoolander turned around and slowed down his pace.  He lifted his thick eyebrow and simply said, "Okay, Pot, you’re calling the Kettle black."

 

Stiles bared his teeth in embarrassment and felt his cheeks warm.  Well, what a wonderful first impression he was making. 

 

Why was he doing this?  Stiles knew where to put this novel.  Did he have to drag this poor, attractive man into this stupid errand?

 

 _Too late now_ , Stilinski, he thought to himself.  _You've made a decision.  Follow through, soldier_.

 

Stiles tried to laugh his embarrassment off, but he ended up sounding like a serial killer.  God, what was wrong with him. 

 

"What about you?" Zoolander asked, picking up speed again and beginning to go up stairs.

 

"What about me?"

 

"What's your sign?" Zoolander said, completely deadpan.  Stiles let a small smile settle on his lips. 

 

"Well," Stiles began in a much higher pitch than usual, "I'm an Aries rising."

 

"That's not even a thing," Zoolander quipped back.  A grin appeared on his face for a second before it vanished, the only trace of it hanging around his eyes in crow’s feet. "How long have you been working here?"

 

"Oh, um, yeah, a year," Stiles replied automatically.  Zoolander stopped in his tracks.

 

"Then why are you asking me for help?" he asked as he turned around to face Stiles.

 

Stiles had been caught in his lie.  _Shit shit shit shit. Make something up, brain._

 

"Um....to test you?" was the answer his brain gave.

 

Zoolander went back to looking stoic as Tonto from the Lone Ranger.

 

Stiles sighed deeply and shrugged.  "Okay, I really do work in Ag, so I just noticed that you just started and I wanted to introduce myself but I haven't really talked to anyone here and this plan, it ended up being maybe a total failure, but now I look like a complete and utter jackass, kay, and I'm sorry if I disturbed you but I really needed to talk to someone." When Stiles finally breathed, Zoolander looked slightly surprised, but only in those massive eyebrows.

 

"Wow."

 

Stiles jutted his neck and head out a bit.  "Wow?"

 

Zoolander nodded.  "I stand corrected.  You're a talker." He then turned around and continued to the fiction section.  Stiles stood, confused.  When Zoolander turned around and asked if Stiles was coming, Stiles almost tripped over his own feet in excitement.  Even though they had not spoken fifty words between them, Stiles liked this guy.  He seemed like a decent person with a very dry sense of humor, which was better than no sense of humor like the other librarians around here.

 

When Stiles caught up to Zoolander, he received a handshake.

 

"I'm Derek, by the way."

 

Stiles smiled.  "Stiles," he returned.

 

"First or last name, Stiles?" Derek asked.

 

"Neither," Stiles said, leaving some air of mystery between them.  He could see Lydia smiling in his mind.

 

Derek looked...well, stoic.  Stoic like a Greek.  This was not the reaction Stiles was ever going to get used to.

 

A couple of more seconds passed and Stiles asked, "Sooo where did you come from?”

 

"Undergrad, masters, or doctorate?" Derek responded.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "I don't know, all of them."

 

"Undergrad at Cal Northridge, masters at DU, doctorate at Carnegie Mellon."

 

Stiles whistled.  Even to him, that résumé was impressive.  "When'd you get that Ph.D, then?"

 

"I'm on loan right now.  I'm here for the rest of the year, then back to Pittsburgh."  Dear god, Derek sounded like he was on autopilot.  Stiles was not about to put up with that.

 

"...that’s cool, but didn't answer my question."

 

Derek shrugged.  "Sorry.  I have a year left."

 

 Stiles smiled.  If he couldn’t be more attractive, at least he was smarter than Derek.

 

They'd finally made it to fiction.  Derek swung right towards PR, instead of left toward PN.  Stiles took this as an opportunity to touch Derek's arms, which were just as muscled and toned as Stiles thought they would be.

 

"Hey," he said, grabbing hold of Derek, "this way, new guy." Derek was, surprise surprise, being emotionless.  Stiles decided to counteract Derek with a wink.

 

Oh GOD, was what went through Stiles' mind.  The fuck was he doing?! He just met this guy, was grabbing onto a very well defined arm, and WINKING AT HIM OH GOD.

 

Stiles let go of Derek and decided to pretend that the wink didn't happen.  Maybe Derek didn't see it.

 

"Why'd you wink at me?" Derek asked, confused. 

 

 _Okay, Stilinski, be witty. Make this situation better_.

 

"I have an involuntary twitch.  Like that bounty hunter on _Psych_." FUCK STILES PLEASE STOP.

 

Derek chuckled lightly.  Stiles almost stopped in his tracks.  Did - did he just make a male model disguised as a librarian chuckle? Hey, Derek was following him now.  This was a win.

 

Stiles could not believe all these bad decisions he was making and still ending up successful.  Zeus must have been on his side this day. 

 

"You watch that show?" Stiles asked, bewildered.

 

"Yeah, man. It got me through my undergrad."  Derek had a great smile.  His big eyes crinkled slightly, showing his age a bit when the smile subsided.  He must have been 30 at least.

 

Stiles laughed with Derek a bit.  "Dude, Shawn Spencer is my spirit animal," Stiles said with pride.

 

"I feel like I'm Lassie 50% of the time," Derek admitted.  Stiles laughed quietly, smiling wider than he had in years. 

 

They had arrived at PN and turned right down the aisle, looking for _Animal Farm_ 's buddies.  As Stiles looked for the book's rightful home on the shelves, he and Derek shared their love of an offbeat cop show almost too loudly.  Derek had to remind Stiles once to quiet down because this was a library, after all.  Stiles had successfully placed the book in its place and the subject had shifted to Twin Peaks, which Stiles had never seen and Derek apparently hated.  As they walked on down to circulation, Derek admitted to never seeing any Bond film.  Stiles admitted he'd only ever seen _Skyfall_ and that was good enough for him and Scott.

 

Fifteen feet from the circulation desk, Stiles said good-bye to Derek and told him too not work too hard.  Derek nodded and grinned as Stiles went back down to the dungeon.

 

Once Stiles sat back down at his own make-shift desk downstairs, he resolved to make an excuse to talk to Derek again as soon as possible. 

 

*******

 

Stiles sighed again.  He was reading the _SkyFarms_ book for fun, but he was not having fun.  He usually would have fun, but the silence was making him…not have fun. 

 

He sighed for the fourteenth time in a minute.  He looked up into the dim stacks of the S section of the Library of Congress and suddenly felt very lonely and strangely upset.  Why wasn't anyone down here?  There had to be someone interesting in agriculture in this city.  Some senator had to be on a committee with farms or whatever. 

 

He sat up and stretched arms above his head.  When his stretch was done, Stiles interlaced his fingers behind his head and rocked back in his chair. 

 

Air escaped Stiles' bored, puffed cheeks.  He began to whistle the Doctor Who theme song and started a debate within his head - would he be a better Doctor or companion?  Either way, TARDIS was involved and everything was great. Until he died or regenerated.

 

Just when Stiles got to the good part of the doooWWWEEEEEdooooOOs, the elevator opened. Stiles screamed and fell out of his chair with all the grace of a dead fish.

 

"Stiles?" came a deep voice.  "You down here?" 

 

Stiles sat up and adjusted his glasses.  Who else would appear from the elevator shaft but Stiles' newest and only work friend, Derek Zoolander.

 

Fuck, how absolutely WONDERFUL that coincidence was.  Stiles hoped to Krishna that Derek's last name was actually Zoolander.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said a little too loudly, then reverted to a whisper.  "Yeah, can I help you?

 

Derek's eyebrows furrowed.  "Why are you whispering?"

 

Stiles stood up abruptly and watched Derek strut towards his desk. 

 

"What?" Stiles whispered, distracted by another fricking person in his section.  He realized he was, in fact, whispering for no reason and cleared his throat a bit before continuing in his normal voice.  "What's up, D?"

 

God.  Why was this happening. Why did he just call the incredibly attractive Derek "D.?"

 

D looked unfazed.  Still, Stiles vowed to never call Derek "D" again.

 

"I was, uh," Derek began, but stopped midsentence.

 

Stiles stepped forward.  "Yeah?"

 

Derek spat out, "I'm at lunch.  You wanna come?"

 

After absolutely zero deliberation, Stiles grabbed his coat and turned off his desk lamp without a word.  He blazed past Derek and into the elevator.  Stiles then began talking and did not stop until they got outside into the wet snow. 

 

"Fuuuh, snow," Stiles groaned as he put up his hood. This was not fun. "This is literally the worst thing about DC," he told Derek.  "This goddamned swamp snow."

 

Derek chuckled a manly sort of chuckle.  Stiles liked that he could make Derek chuckle. 

 

"You have got the weirdest vocabulary," Derek said.  Stiles was unsure if that was a compliment or not.

 

"I'm taking that as a positive, so you know," Stiles huffed, walking into the street.

 

Derek shrugged, but with a bit more smile than his usual stoic grin.

 

*******

 

And that’s how it started.  Fifteen minutes here and there.  Stiles went up to Circ., Derek went down to the dungeon, and they had lunch.  Stiles noticed he was talking a lot more, just like in high school.  He noticed that he stopped hating Catalog and Greenberg so much.  Mostly, he noticed things about Derek.

 

Like if you said anything about family, his shoulders sort of tensed up.  Or if you started talking about dogs, his eyes lit up and he actually smiled. Or if you mentioned video games, he’d automatically start talking about Lara Croft and how freaking awesome she is. Or how Derek wiped the top of his mouth with the top of a soda can right after taking a sip.  Or how he hunched ever so slightly to get himself eye to eye with whoever he was talking with, even Greenberg.

 

Stiles found himself talking more and more, smiling as he went to work, and actually liking one of his coworkers.  He’d even introduced Scott to Derek when he was out east visiting.  Scott had promptly claimed that if Stiles and Derek did not make socially awkward butt babies in five years, Stiles would be disowned.  Stiles punched Scott, but secretly kind of agreed.

 

Oh blasphemy of blasphemies.

 

However, a time came in late April when Derek gets sick.  Stiles unexpectedly found himself more bored than he ever remembered. He almost started talking to Greenberg, he was so desperate.

 

Derek was out for two days.  When Stiles walked into Circ., he shook his head and rolled his eyes.  Only Derek could look even hotter after a two day flu than he did before he left.  Stiles looked down at his shirt, first noticing the coffee stain from when a kid bumped into him on the tram, and then his sunken in chest.  He really needed to get back to the gym.  Stiles shrugged his shoulders in defeat.  He felt like Milo Thatch before Whitmore game him money.  Stiles smirked - like Jackson Whittemore, who he was definitely picturing as an old man, would ever give him any kind of money. In any case, Stiles was living life as an un-cool, un-steampunk Milo Thatch to Derek’s unmistakably attractive and foreign Kidagakash.  He was certainly as ripped as she was.

 

Stiles didn’t know whether to keep going to his cave or say “hi” to his acquaintance (friend? lover in his dreams?), but his choice was neutralized when he heard a very surprised “Oh my God - Stiles?!” to his left.

 

Stiles looked over to see his old high school crush.  And the last person he’d ever expected to be in the LOC.

 

“Danny?” Stiles spurted, stopping in his tracks.

 

“What are you doing here?” Danny asked in a quiet, but in a very cheerful voice.  He didn’t even wait for Stiles to respond before saying “It’s great to see you again!” and immediately enveloping Stiles in a hug.  Stiles almost didn’t move his cup out of the way quick enough before Danny’s arms were around Stiles’ shoulders, squeezing tightly.  Stiles pat Danny on the back, awkwardly moving just from the wrist.

16-year-old Stiles was freaking out from all this Danny attention. 

 

“Nice to see you, too, Danny.”

 

Danny let himself out of the hug and grabbed Stiles’ shoulders, forcing Stiles to spill even more coffee all over himself.  Stiles resisted the urge to scream in pain.

 

“What brings you to the library?” Stiles asked at Danny’s whiter than expansionism smile.  Danny finally let Stiles go and placed his own hands into the pockets of his incredibly tight jeans.  Danny looked exactly like he did in high school - granted, he looked like a 28-year-old pretending to be a high schooler in high school - nothing had changed about him except that he was much friendlier toward Stiles now. 

 

“Just visiting an old friend,” Danny said with a genuine, dimply, yet hard-to-read smile.

 

“Yeah?” Stiles asked after a sip of his spill-licious coffee.  “I know it’s not me - who’s the lucky librarian?”

 

Danny looked over to Circ. - Stiles didn’t even have to turn around to know that Derek was strutting toward them.  Of fucking course.  Of.  Fucking.  Course. 

 

“Derek,” Danny said, still smiling.  Danny sure smiled a lot more than he ever did in high school. As Danny and Derek shared a brotastic hug, similar to the one shared between Danny and Stiles, Stiles sipped his coffee and thought about his stupidly stained shirt. “You know St-“

 

“Yeah,” Derek interrupted, a smirk creeping onto his face,” we met a couple weeks ago.” 

 

“Well, isn’t this a freaking coinkidink,” Stiles said, “and I’d love to hang out, but I am super dee duper late and I gotta go shelve some stuff. Y’all have fun now, ya hear?” He shook his head as he walked away, ashamed that he slipped into his uncle’s Texas drawl.

 

He didn’t even hear what Danny and Derek said to him as he left for the darkened corridor to his dungeon.  What was he doing to himself?  Why was he putting himself into exile into his dark, dry space in the basement while two people he’d really like to spend some time with were spending time with each other upstairs?

 

They were probably making out by now.

 

 _Probably not_ , his brain shot back, _you don’t know_.   

 

“Shut up, brain.” Stiles said, out loud this time. 

 

When he got to the basement, Stiles opened up the skype window that was eternally logged in from his library computer.  He typed to Scott:

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

Operation: Charmer is a no go

 

**Scott McCall**

what

why

no

tell meeeeeee

 

Stiles laughed to himself.  His idiot best friend with his silly IMs.

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

He’s got a boyfriend i think. And you will NEVER.  EVER.  GUESS. WHO.

 

**Scott McCall**

…..

?

**Stiles Stilinski**

Danny

  
**Scott McCall**

danny...

is that the idiot guy?

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

No

Danny Mahealani

 

**Scott McCall**

who the hell is that

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

lacrosse guy from high school.  literaly the only ethnic person at our school besides you and boyd

 

**Scott McCall**

OH YEAH

WHY IS HE AT THE LOC

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

visiting Derek.  IDK why

  
**Scott McCall**

dude this is totally fucking with your plan

**  
Stiles Stilinski**

my plan?  

  
**Scott McCall**

the plan to get with hottie mccirculation get married by the president and have babies named athena and kevin

  
**Stiles Stilinski**

that’s your plan, dude.

  
**Scott McCall**

which is an awesome plan that you sohoudl one  hundred percent implement

*should

what is my spelling about

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

Scott.  

 

**Scott McCall**

Earnest

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

You stop that

  
**Scott McCall**

That felt weird to type

  
**Stiles Stilinski**

Don’t you fucking do it again

i sware on me da

  
**Scott McCall**

no seriously

stiles

you gotta  ask him out

  
**Stiles Stilinski**

how the fuck do i do taht

*that

  
**Scott McCall**

tell him how pretty he  his and pay for lunch

sneak date

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

please don’t tell me

  
**Scott McCall**

thats what i didn with allison

**  
Stiles Stilinski**

oh god

you didn’t

  
**Scott McCall**

:]

I did.

 

**Stiles Stilinski**

How she fell for that I will never know

 

  
Then the door to the dungeon opened and light flooded in.  Stiles’ eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, so, for once, the light was not blinding.

 

Stiles turned to the door. There he was – Derek, standing in the doorway just like he always did. But this time he seemed…different.  Like he actually had been affected by Stiles’ exit.  Even though Derek was standing up tall, his shoulders were hunched like he did when he talked to anyone.  His face, while stern, also showed a new emotion that Stiles hadn’t seen on Derek before.  In all honesty, Derek’s expression looks like Stiles’ dad’s concerned face.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek with a small smile.  “Yeah?” he asked softly.

 

Derek’s concern faded a bit with the addition of a smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth. 

 

“Why’d you leave?” he asked.  “We all know that no one comes down here.”

 

Stiles shrugged, refusing to tell Derek, who he literally met three weeks ago, about all of Stiles’ deep seated insecurities.  They’d not reached that point in their relationship.

 

“Stiles-,”

 

“I was just givin’ you a little bit of alone time,” Stiles said as quickly as possible.  He sighed and pushed back from his computer.  “A friend of yours came to see you, so I went to my dungeon and now I’m here, waiting for a farmer to come and read or something.”

 

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes. 

 

“Of course you did,” Derek said.  Stiles wasn’t sure if the tone was annoyed or amused.  It was kind of hard to tell with Derek. 

 

They sat and stood in silence for a second before a question popped into Stiles’ brain.

 

“Hey, Derek – how do you know Danny, anyway?”

 

Derek was surprised and slightly taken aback.  “I, well, we were in elementary school together.  We had this, like, buddy system -,”

 

“Between Fifth graders and first graders?!” Stiles finished, crazed with glee that someone else he knew had this weird ass mentor system for elementary kids. “No shit, we had that, too!”

 

“Woah,” Derek said with the tiniest of laughs.  “No way?”

 

“Yeah way!” Stiles screamed.  He spun in his chair four whole rotations, he was so ecstatic.  “I thought that it was just a NorCal thing!”

 

Derek continued, “Yeah, so I was in fifth grade when Danny was-“ he stopped. “Wait.  How do you know Danny?”

Stiles stopped spinning abruptly and almost fell of his chair.  “Um, we went to high school together.”

 

Derek’s mouth dropped open.  A pointed hand rose from Derek’s side almost of its own volition.  Derek looked incredibly shocked.

 

“You…” Derek began.  Stiles could almost see Derek’s brain processing information, even if Stiles didn’t really know what the hell was going on between Derek’s incredibly adorable ears.  “You went to Beacon Hills High School?”

 

It was Stiles’ turn to open his mouth like a fish.  “Yeeeeeaaah.  How the hell did you – ,”

 

“When’d you graduate?” Derek asked with incredible force.

  
“2011, why?”

 

Derek didn’t say anything for ten whole seconds.  Then he began chanting.

 

“C-Y,” he chanted with force.

 

Some deep, primal urge to chant resurfaced in Stiles after years of being hidden under his bookish exterior.

 

“C-L,” Stiles chanted back.

 

They then finished together with more gusto than either of them probably intended: “O-N-E! O-N-E! CYCLONES, CYCLONES, CYCLONES GO!”

Stiles and Derek stared at each other, surprised and incredibly excited to find a BHHS alum in the LOC of all places.  Stiles smiled at Derek with wonder and asked,

 

“Oh my god, when’d you graduate?”

 

“2007.”

 

Stiles’ brain finally started to work.  Oh god.  When he’d started talking to Derek, he’d had no clue why there was something so familiar about him.

 

Stiles had seen Derek before. In the newspapers.  In his dad’s cruiser.  Alone, crying, and burned.

 

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered.  “Your last name is Hale.”  He looked up at Derek and stood.  “Your…your Derek Hale.”

 

Derek’s eyes widened.  Stiles was so right.  “How do you know that?” Derek demanded.

 

“Well- for one, you’re only the best forward Beacon Hills has ever had, so duh, and two, I saw you in my dad’s cruiser like 15 years ago.”

“Cruiser?” Derek inquired, legitimately confused for a second.  The gears in his head were turning again.  “Is your last name Stilinski?”

 

It was Stiles’ turn to be shocked. Again.  “Yeah, oh my god!”

 

“John’s your dad?” Derek said, completely in shock. “But his kid’s name is Earn-“

 

“DON’T YOU SAY IT.”

 

Derek stared at him for five seconds, eyeing Stiles up and down for what seemed like an eternity. 

 

“You’re Earnest Stilinski,” Derek said, as if it was now completely obvious to him.  And yet, something in Derek’s face was…well, Stiles didn’t know, exactly.

 

“I,” Derek said.  He didn’t continue. He just left.

 

And there stood Stiles, confused, horrified, and feeling like he was in only his underwear.  Stiles looked down.  He was fully clothed.  But he still had his stained shirt on.

 

Of.  Fucking.  Course.

 

 

*******

Stiles decided to ignore the Bad Boys song erupting from his phone as he lay on his bed, reading about _SkyFarms_ with little interest. Stiles had even littler interest in talking to his father.

 

The phone stopped singing for a few moments.  It had gone to voice mail.

 

Stiles sighed.  This was a dumb reason for him to be mad at his dad. 

 

Which is why he was calling his dad back.

 

“Yello?” his dad answered.

 

“Oh, father of mine,” Stiles began slowly.  “You called?”

 

“Yeah-,” his dad said, “yeah, just wondering how you’re doing.  You know, normal dad stuff.”

 

“Just fine, thanks. How well do you know Derek Hale, dad?”

 

Silence on the other end of the phone permeated through the dead cellular waves, or whatever they were.

 

“…why?”

 

“Because I’d like to know why he knows my name and I barely let Scott know about it, like, last year.”

 

 

“Stiles, you have to give me some context here. Like, why in the hell is Derek Hale, of all people, in the picture?”

 

*******

Derek sat on his couch in his nearly empty apartment.  He was in the dark, mostly because he was too stunned to move.  His brain had to process 1. What the hell was happening and 2. How incredibly small of a world it really was.

 

Derek was sixteen when the fire happened.  With all of his relatives save his estranged sister and his now incapable uncle dead, he had nowhere to go. 

 

Derek remembered sitting in shocked silence for the better part of a year.  Silent as the deputies hauled him away from his ashen home, silent as they questioned him for information, silent as they attempted to send him to New York. In that silent time, the only person who knew how to communicate with Derek was one of the senior deputies: John Stilinski.

 

Instead of talking to Derek, Stilinski would write a note and recommend a book.  Little things like, “You’re a good kid, so is this Eragon guy,” and “I saw you smirking a little earlier.  If the Band of Brothers can _smile_ , you can too.” and “This one is about tarantulas.  It’s really gross.  Or so my son says,” gave Derek a little bit of normalcy in his life that becoming an orphan had obviously taken away.  John was the one who convinced the social worker that remaining at BHHS was good for Derek and that staying with his uncle in assisted living would be better than going off to a sister he barely knew in a state that he really didn’t understand. 

 

For months, while Derek didn’t speak, he wished he could have thanked John.  Instead, he just read those books and was prayed he didn’t have to go live with Laura.

 

The court ruled that Derek would be allowed to live with his uncle on the condition that the sheriff’s department provided a mentor for readjustment and lawful living.  Derek was assigned a female deputy, the court stupidly thinking a woman would be better for a male youth.   
  
The first thing Derek said after the fire was “No, I want Stilinski.”

 

So every Tuesday and Thursday for the next year and a half, John Stilinski drove Derek to and from school, helped with Derek’s homework, and became the liaison between school and half-crazy Uncle Peter.  Derek rode in that cruiser a lot, listening to the Beach Boys on the radio and John talk about his son, Earnest. 

 

Derek had only seen Earnest a couple of times, and it was all in pictures.  Earnest was a small, goofy looking kid with big ole brown eyes that looked too big for his head and arms that were in constant motion, as evidence by the blur on John’s phone.  Derek had listened to John describe his “hyperactive little bastard” in the most loving way, how the kid was smart as a whip but had a problem with rolling around on the classroom floor when he got bored, and how Earnest would coerce his buddy Scott into the most elaborate but ill-advised schemes at school.

“You know,” John had said once, “you are a well-adjusted young man, even with what’s happened.  Not once have I heard from your teachers or anyone that you get up to shenanigans.  I’ve gotten a call about my son every day this week.”

 

“Sounds like he’s gifted,” Derek had replied.  John had eyed Derek suspiciously for a second before digging into his fries again.

 

“Gifted?” John had asked.

 

“He’s bored because he’s too smart for his age group.  He probably needs a challenge, like extra work. I was like that. Check with the special ed teachers – they’ll know.”

 

John had shrugged but nodded.  “And here we are, the mentor getting mentored.”

 

Derek had smiled at that.

 

Derek had never met John’s special son, Earnest.

 

He had, however, met the brilliant and underused Stiles.

 

The lanky, four-eyed Stiles that he’d seen walk past him and down the service stairs on his first day at the Library.

 

Stiles looked young.  Stiles acted young.  Derek had never considered that Stiles would actually _be_ young.

 

So he texted John on Tuesday night, like he did every Tuesday.

 

So, did that kid of yours ever graduate?  
 _[Sent 6:43p]_

Yeah.  Top of his class.  
 _[Received 6:50p]_

What year?  
 _[Sent 6:52p]_

11.  He was two years ahead of schedule. He is indeed gifted.  
 _[Received 6:54p]_

 

So Derek was right. Earnest Stilinski, aka Stiles, was some kind of prodigy. 

 

That so? How old is he now?  
 _[Sent 6:59p]_

23.  Why?  
 _[Received 7:00p]_

 

Oh wow.  Derek might have thought Stiles was young, but he did not think he was _that_ young. 

Suddenly, all of the inappropriate thoughts Derek was definitely not having at work felt even more strange.

 

 

Stiles, Earnest, whatever, was not only much younger than anticipated, but far more intelligent than Derek could ever hope to be.  Which begged the question: why was Stiles in the Ag archives?

 

*******

 

At work the next day, Derek watched Stiles ignore him and walk past circulation to the service stairs. 

 

The small kid Earnest with the crazy arms had undoubtedly grown up into man. Stiles was taller than Derek by a hair, lithe but strong (or as strong as a librarian who did not work out would be), and long.  When Derek had first seen Stiles, he had been floored by his unconventional handsomeness.  The coifed hair, the square-rimmed glasses, the trimmed and fitting pants, the perched cheekbones, the height of Stiles – Derek would be lying if he said that he did not want to take a sip of that tall drink of water.

Stiles was nerdy and a little spastic, and that was probably what Derek liked most.  Stiles didn’t give two shits about what anyone thought of him and was going to verbally destroy anyone who attempted to bully him.  Derek wished he was as verbose as Stiles, but found that silent and strong was more his suit. 

Now Derek was wondering just how smart Stiles was.  Probably destroy-everyone-at-Trivial-Pursuit-while-throwing-down-on-Halo-with-one-hand-and-snacking-on-Pringles-with-the-other-and-quoting-Doctor-Who-while-correcting-BBC-science smart.

 

Derek waited until his lunch break to walk down to the Ag archives and pick up Stiles for lunch. And as his opener, he went with:

 

“Why don’t you go by Earnest?”

 

Stiles turned around slowly in his chair, glaring at Derek through his glasses.  “Because my name is Earnest.”

 

“What about your middle name?”

 

“Not all of us can have normal names, Derek Andrew.”

 

“How-?”

 

“I memorized your file when I was 10.  You look way different, by the way.  Not so much baby faced innocence.  I think it’s the scruff.”

 

“You should talk,” Derek rebuked.  “You went through puberty and then some between when you were 9 and now.”

 

Stiles stood up.  “And then some?”

 

Derek felt his cheeks heating up.  Oops.

 

“What the hell is your middle name, anyway?” Derek asked, trying to ignore his embarrassment.

 

“Przemysław.  Its Polish and has a Z in it.  And the answer is, yes, my parents hated me.”

 

A short, unexpected laugh erupted from Derek.  Stiles cracked a smile from his dead pan face.  They stood in silence for a moment before Derek asked.

 

“So, do you wanna go to lunch?”

 

“Fuck yes, I do! Its Sweet Potato Tots Tuesday!”

 

“And also dinner?” Derek followed up as quickly as possible without sounding too crazed or mumbly.

 

Stiles’ mouth gaped open. “Excuse me?”

 

Derek shook his head, immediately regretting his question.

 

“Nothing, lets-,”

 

“No, no, stop.  Yeah, I’ll go to dinner with you.  I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

 

Derek felt his chest swell and his stomach implode.  Or maybe that was hunger. 

 

No.  That was definitely excitement.

 

“But first,” Stiles said, swinging on his coat, “let’s get some goddamned lunch.  I’m starving.  I tell you, one Monster is not enough for breakfast.”

 

“I’ve only been telling you that for weeks,” Derek said as he simultaneously rolled his eyes and smiled.  He watched Stiles take off his loafers and put on some boots to combat the swamp snow and place a Columbia beanie on his head.

 

“Shit, do you go to Coumbia?” Derek squawked.

 

Stiles pushed his glasses up his nose.  “Uh, no, I’m done.”

 

“With your masters?”

 

“No.  First doctorate.”

 

Derek suddenly felt very, very incapable and that maybe Stiles should have his job. 

 

“And…you’re 23. Working on a second-”

 

“I turn 24 next week, if it makes you feel better, O lowly master of library science.” Stiles walked toward Derek with a wide, playful smile on his face. 

 

“You like interrupting me, don’t you?” Derek said, putting his hands in his pockets defiantly. 

 

Stiles’ smile faded.  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

 

It was Derek’s turn to smile playfully. “I won’t mess with you if you stop being a shit head.”

 

Stiles smirked and snorted through his nose. “Naaaah, I like being a smart ass.” Derek turned around to the staircase and began walking up them, taking his hands out of his pockets as he did so.  A few steps up, he felt Stiles’ hand in his grasp.

 

He looked down at their hands.  Then he looked at Stiles, who was giving a smile that was certainly small, but it was there.

 

Derek liked holding Stiles’ hands.  For now.  Once they got sweaty, they’d switch to something else.  Linking arms sounds like a good alternative.

 

Or making out.  Derek wanted to make out with Stiles, really.

 

“So…,” Derek began, “just how smart are you?”

 

Stiles puffed his cheeks, then let air escape his lips.  “You know Lydia Martin? From _Jeopardy!_?”

 

Derek gave a nod.  Of course he knew about the girl who blew Ken Jennings record out of the water.

 

“I can beat her at Trivial Pursuit.”

 

Derek laughed.  And then stopped making noise.  They were in a library, after all.

 

He glanced over at Stiles, his big ole brown eyes looking at Derek’s green ones.  Stiles, with his puffy marshmellow jacket, his puffy brown hair, and his puffy pink lips, looked…

 

Well, he looked like a s’more.  A dorky, highly intelligent s’more.  And Derek liked it. 

 

*******

** Three Weeks Later **

 

Stiles lips were chapped and tasted of sweet chemical caffeine. Derek licked them as he pulled his hand out of Stiles’ pants.  They were still trembling (well, Derek was trembling; Stiles was spasming) from when they had both come (at separate times, of course – this wasn’t a Harlequin Romance) while jerking each other off for the third time that night.  What started in the back of the movie theatre like horny teenagers led to incredibly hot, still teenager road head given to Stiles in his ugly Jeep, which then turned into frantic, hands dry humping in the stairwell of Derek’s apartment building.  They’d somehow made it to Derek’s bed; Derek was too preoccupied with Stiles’ body and hands and mouth.

 

Derek opened his eyes to look at Stiles.  His lips were swollen and red from the intense making out from which they had momentarily taken a break. His hair, normally messy in a “I took time to look like I rolled out of bed” way, was completely in disarray and all over the place from where Derek had run his hands through it in an endless string of moments of manic need.  His glasses were miraculously still on, albeit crooked on his face and barely hanging on to his ears. He was staring directly at the ceiling, paralyzed from his intense orgasm.  Or so Derek hoped.

 

“Shit,” Stiles said in a breathy shout.  “If this is third base, I cannot fucking wait to go home.”

 

Derek smiled while he rolled his eyes.  Of course Stiles was using the stupid baseball metaphor.

 

Stiles turned to face Derek, his glasses crooked angle all the more visible, endearing and sexy.  Derek couldn’t believe he’d developed a glasses kink in the last three weeks.  He’d full on smacked Stiles’ own hands away from taking off the glasses last week when they’d kissed heatedly down in the Ag archives. 

 

Derek said nothing.  Just pulled Stiles in for some more mouth on mouth.

 

But then stopped. 

 

He’d heard something.

 

Stiles looked like he’d heard it, too.

 

“Why do I feel like I’m Horton?” Stiles asked.

 

“Because you’re hearing a Who, four eyes,” Derek said.

 

Stiles looked around, getting his glasses firmly in place on his ears.  He got up off the spot on Derek’s bed.  There was Stiles’ phone.

 

_Call Connected with Daddy-O_

 

From the speaker, a tinney voice shouted:

 

 _“I SWEAR TO CHRIST STILES THE NEXT TIME YOU BUTT DIAL ME WHILE FUCKING A GUY I WILL DISOWN YOU.  SAME GOES FOR YOU, DEREK_.”

 

_Call with Daddy-O disconnected._

 

Stiles glared at the phone on the bed, eyes wide.  He then looked at Derek, who shrugged.

 

“At least he knows now,” Derek offered. 

 

Stiles’ eyes darted back to the phone for a second before he looked back at Derek.  His surprised and mortified eyes softened to something more sultry. 

 

Yeah, Derek didn’t care that the Sheriff had involuntarily listened in on his almost sex with Stiles.  Derek took the phone from the bed and took his phone out of his own front pocket, then placed them on the nightstand. 

 

“Round 4?” Derek offered.

 

“Oh fuck yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what happens in a library, let alone the LOC, so bear with me please. Also: unbeta-d because I have one friend and she's busy. Sorry about the spelling and grammar mistakes. Unless they are in the texts or IMs, then those are on purpose.
> 
> Dedicated to Corrie.


End file.
